As I write this essay I’m sitting outside, on a balcony, overseeing the Santa Monica mountains. There’s the wafting citronella scent of a burning candle that keeps the flies at bay; a light breeze; the whirl of hummingbirds; the buzz of the bees coming up from the koi pond and the snorting of my French Bulldog, Momo, at my feet. Yes, it’s bucolic, idyllic, and I’m grateful for not having to put up with the blare of car horns and the thumping of helicopter blades overhead  (even though motorcyclists do love to rumble through the canyon at 7 am on Sundays) but most importantly I’m grateful for the lack of distraction. I can think. And the irony (or hypocrisy) that I’m writing this essay about disconnecting from screens on a MacBook Air isn’t lost on me but in this case, the interaction with the screen is active – I’m not passively intaking Instagram or Snapchat feeds.